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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129352">Black Ant's Big Day Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurzerker/pseuds/Blurzerker'>Blurzerker</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taskmaster: The Line [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Ant-Man (Comics), Marvel (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:27:13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,673</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27129352</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blurzerker/pseuds/Blurzerker</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It started as a planned one-shot, now it's a full fic! Taking place after the events of Taskmaster: The Line, this story follows Taskmaster's partner-in-crime and resident snarky robot Eric O'Grady during the events of Taskmaster's trial for his role in the creation of the young mimics known as the Scions. </p><p>On the day of the trial, Eric gets an ominous call from The Hub: He's being hunted by someone with a grudge against him, and him alone.  Forced to abandon his intentions to support his partner and solve the mystery of who's hunting him, Black Ant realizes he must also confront the question that he's been avoiding since he first became a mercenary:</p><p>Is he REALLY Eric, or just another Life Model Decoy?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Taskmaster: The Line [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1712971</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Mourning Would</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>♪"I'll break the sky<br/>
Because you and I are going nowhere<br/>
Kiss goodbye, a hundred times before we get there♪"</p><p>Eric reluctantly opened his eyes, the music blaring from his cell phone just barely loud enough to wake him out of his heavy slumber. He had often wondered why he was such a hard sleeper; it wasn't like he really needed it. After all, he was not a person but an LMD - a Life Model Decoy. Created by the defense agency known as SHIELD to serve as impersonators or saboteurs in the form of agents or heroes, LMDs had become an inexorable part of modern espionage...and a real kick in the ass to wake up inside of after watching yourself die.</p><p>Forcing himself to sit up, the redhead reached over and grabbed hold of his phone, turning off the alarm. Tossing it onto his old and sheetless mattress, he got up and stumbled into the bathroom, rubbing his eyes with sore hands. What had happened last night? He remembered when he stopped in front of the mirror, leaning in to inspect the blossoming explosion of purple and yellow across the right side of his face. "Right, Big Green..." </p><p>It had been an interesting name for a drunken biker, especially one who, as far as Eric could tell at the time, didn't have an ounce of green on or in him him. He'd certainly been big, though; big and quick with his fists, all because Eric had 'accidentally' tripped and pressed himself into one of the waitresses of the dive he'd been at. Now her? She'd been green, an emerald-eyed beauty as stacked as could be. How was -he- supposed to know she was Big Green's daughter? "Ohhh, I get it. She was Little Green, so he...ahhh."</p><p>Dropping his hand from his eye, Eric wondered vaguely if she'd still go out with him. Probably not. She had to attend to her dad's funeral, after all. Regardless, maybe he would run into her, he reasoned. It was just the motivation he needed to actually shower today.</p><p>Emerging from the stall a few minutes later - less, perhaps, than most would call an actually acceptable amount of time, but he only spent THAT long in there when he --</p><p>Oh, his phone was ringing. He ignored it, picking out a clean t-shirt and jeans from his closet.</p><p>Okay, no, they were piled in his hamper and didn't REALLY smell, which was a close enough approximation for him to 'clean'. Once he was dressed, opting for his least fragrant black t-shirt and faded old jeans, he picked up his phone and headed into the kitchen, confident that his robo-caller or telemarketer had given up for the moment.</p><p>And then it went off again. He ignored it again, heading into the kitchen to pop some bread in the toaster. He didn't know WHY he had to eat - what was the point of a sick robot body when you still had to make toast - but at least it made him feel a little more human sometimes.</p><p>He'd just sank back into his morning haze when his phone rang yet again.</p><p>Finally answering as he grabbed his finished toast, ignoring the sheer heat of it as it scorched his fingertips, Eric started towards the door. "Oh my god, I'm -coming-. Would you stop calling me? I know I'm beautiful, but you can't see me over the phone unless I install an app for it, and I'm not letting China spy on me. Fool me twice--"</p><p>"O'Grady." The Hub's voice, mildly distorted through the advanced vocal filter that she used but nonetheless unmistakable, cut through his rambling like a knife. "Taskmaster's trial is today; the one you're supposed to be a witness at." Just like that, he was awake. The Hub - voice and, secretly, sole operator of the mercenary syndicate known simply as The Org - was not one to ignore or back-talk to casually.</p><p>Naturally, Eric did exactly that. "I know! I said I'm going!" He was, too, albeit at his own damn pace. It was fine! He had no respect for traffic laws; he'd be early, if anything. He was already out the door, toast in his mouth, just like one of his favorite anime, which was to say, all of them.</p><p>"No, you're not." Even through the tech she used, The Hub sounded...well, cool. Distant, distracted. Eric stopped with his hand on the door of his old Camaro; it was dented and beaten up, and yet he loved it. There was something relatable about the fact that he kept pouring money into fixing the ancient and hard-to-replace parts inside, yet the rust spot on the roof was untouched. Ran like a dream, even if it was looking a little rougher every day.</p><p>"Explain," he responded seriously. There weren't a lot of people he'd wake up before noon for, and Taskmaster was only barely one of them. This was a special occasion - the man was his...what, mentor? Best friend? Partner in crime? A little of everything, if also a total bastard in every sense of the term. </p><p>"There's...a job. Well, not a job, really; a mission. Not something for hire. Something that has to be done. Today." He hadn't ever heard her sound Like this. Insecure, or worried, maybe. The Hub preferred to talk to Taskmaster. Even though Black Ant technically worked for her as well, she never so much as gave him direct orders. He always assumed it was her way of showing preferential treatment to Taskmaster...</p><p>...To her husband. The Hub wasn't just The Org...she was a former SHIELD agent named Mercedes Merced. For years, she'd used Taskmaster, who had issues with his powers that compromised his memory, as her own personal superweapon. Every job he'd taken for Hydra, he was gathering information for her. Every time he went after a superhero? It was to cover for his actions, to keep the illusion going. In a way that struck Eric as deeply twisted, Mercedes was the most devoted wife that he'd ever met, but he'd never been able to decide if he liked her or not. Something about the way she handled Taskmaster felt manipulative to him.</p><p>"More important than vouching for Tasky? It's going to look REALLY bad if I don't show up." He wasn't sure that was true, but he wanted to be there; the guy needed all the character witnesses he could get. Sure, him and Tony had their friction; that was just mercenary life, really. But they were best friends. In the end, each was the only one that the other had ever considered worth more than money. They'd proven it time and again, and he didn't like the idea of abandoning his best pal to a trial packed full of superheroes without his most reliable backup.</p><p>"...I know, Eric. But this isn't about Taskmaster. We've got that covered, it'll be fine. This is about you. There's someone coming after you; I don't know who it is, but they've been making waves and causing damage. Can you think of anyone you've pissed off lately?"</p><p>Yes.</p><p>"...No." </p><p>"Very convincing," she deadpanned. "Look, the thing is, someone has it out for you. I dug into this a little bit, and whoever it is, they're -really- taking aim for the Black Ant. You have to handle this; if you show up here and they disrupt the trial, it could destroy the whole defense planned for Taskmaster. His lawyer's entire goal is to underline the difference between Tony and Taskmaster; if he's jumped by a supervillain or something in the middle of the court, that's EXACTLY the kind of thing that makes people think there isn't a difference at all."</p><p>This was new. The Hub - Mercedes, Eric reminded himself - had never sounded so fretful. Maybe this was important after all. Starting his car, Eric began cruising down Yancy Street, but he only got about a quarter of a mile before he was forced to slow down due to an obstruction: a gigantic, floating inflatable Ben Grimm taking up a good portion of the road on the back of someone's bicycle. "What is it, the big honeycomb's birthday? Get that outta here!" Eric leaned away from his phone, yelling out the window.</p><p>"Fuck you, dude! He's a national hero!" A small middle finger emerged from behind The Thing's giant rubber butt. </p><p>"Hey, fuck you!" Eric fired back. "I've met him! He pays women to rub Nutella in his weird fissures!"</p><p>"Can you stop arguing with six-year-olds and focus?" Mercedes asked on the other line, sounding irritated.</p><p>"She was at least seven." </p><p>"Look, just listen. You need to sort this out. I know you were looking forward to a little vacation or whatever, but--</p><p>"Excuse you, it was a Sabbatical. A Black Ant Sabbatical. A Black Sabbath." Finally managing to get past the little mini-parade, Eric turned the corner and headed for the freeway as he checked his hair in the mirror. It was still there. Good. Sometimes it wasn't! "Hey, Mercy; you ever wonder why LMDs gotta have a Lego man situation going on?"</p><p>"No," Mercedes answered, her long-suffering tone making it quite obvious that she wasn't in the mood for this. "...But if you really need to know, it makes repairing the neural network a little easier if you don't have to actually sift through all that hair. Not like you want to shave their heads."</p><p>"Huh. That actually makes sense. Anyways, where should I start? What should I do?" He'd really set the whole day aside for this trial -- he wasn't expecting to just have to skip out on it. </p><p>"Literally anything that the Black Ant would do. Just...go through your usual routine, but don't see any of your merc buddies, don't go to the trial, and don't call me back. Chances are, they'll be wondering why you aren't going to the trial if they know about it themselves. Try to find a good reason to not be here. Anything else?"</p><p>"Is Taskmaster gonna be alright?" He finally asked, almost hesitantly.</p><p>"...He'll be fine. You need to focus on you, Eric. This isn't about Taskmaster. This is about you."</p><p>He had no idea when the last time that he'd heard that was. Maybe when he'd been an Avenger? Eric liked Tasky, he really did, and he'd do almost anything for the guy, but there was no denying that despite the fact they were supposed to be partners, he always felt more like a sidekick. He knew that worrying about this wasn't entirely fair; after all, in every meaningful sense of the term, Tony kept true to their original agreement. They split the pay for any job they did together 50/50, didn't lie to each other about any contracts they were taking, and Tony had gone out of his way to push Mercedes into using her resources as The Hub into ensuring that Eric got a fair share of work.</p><p>He was grateful, really.</p><p>So why did he feel like...well, less? Less of a mercenary? Less of a man? He could argue it was because Taskmaster was twenty years his senior, and had been training mercenaries for just as long, or that while the Black Ant had made a name for himself, the more experienced gun for hire had built up a much more serious reputation...</p><p>...But as he cruised onto the freeway, letting himself fall into one of the few hobbies he had always truly loved of simply driving, he knew that the truth was both simpler and a lot less easy to swallow: It was because Taskmaster always treated him not like Black Ant, the LMD mercenary, but like Eric O'Grady, the man who had died. The one whose face he wore, whose eyes he looked through, whose brain he supposedly had. </p><p>He felt like a sidekick because Eric had been a sidekick. Black Ant was a partner, but in the same way that he sometimes saw not Taskmaster, but Tony, Tony sometimes saw Eric, not Black Ant. "God help us two idiots," he muttered to himself. Enough ruminating; he couldn't even spell the word in his own head. Mercedes wanted him to come up with a plan to feasibly ditch the trial? Gosh dang it he'd put on a total show. An acting tour de force! He'd show her! He'd go somewhere totally new!</p><p>He'd barely gotten halfway to the Pop-Up With No Name, a series of tents that had replaced the favored bar of the supervillains of New York after some business with Spider-Man [totally not related to them, for once], when he realized that was about the most Black Ant hobby he could have picked; drinking at a bar full of low-level supervillains?</p><p>"Aw, dang it."</p><p>Okay, so maybe he needed to actually think through this.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Ant-Agonized</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So. What does Black Ant do when he doesn't have Taskmaster around? What does a solo job look out for the latest, greatest insect-themed mercenary?"</p><p>"I...I don't know." The man behind Eric in the toxic pink polo shirt was shaking. </p><p>"Mmm, gimme the nine iron."</p><p>"Sir, I don't -- I think these are all the same." The mini golf attendant raised up the trio of rubber clubs, anxiety sweat beading on his brow. "This isn't real golf."</p><p>"And thank god for that," Eric replied cheerfully, grabbing hold of the lime green club, twirling it in one hand, and then swinging savagely at the little neon ball before him. He cupped a hand to his forehead, brushing back bangs of ginger hair. "Whew, she's a live one."</p><p>The attendant looked down at the ball on the ground, a good foot left of where Eric had swung. "...Y-yes. Nicely done."</p><p>Eric wasn't just torturing this guy for kicks, as hilarious as it was. Ever since he'd walked onto the mini golf course - that's what he'd decided he'd do to occupy himself while he figured out a plan to deal with his stalker - he'd noticed this guy staring at him. That could have been chalked up to a lot of things, not least of all his incredibly good looks...but then he'd snapped a picture.</p><p>That had just been weird.</p><p>Now Eric flipped his golf ball up, bouncing it off the man's forehead. The tap of plastic on flesh made the attendant cross his eyes, at first in annoyance.</p><p>That annoyance became legitimate discomfort, however, as Eric nimbly bounced the ball off his club with unerring accuracy again and again, each time a little harder -- until a red welt was forming on his head. "Hey -- hey, what are you doing?" The man snapped, trying to duck away -- but as soon as he did, Eric grabbed hold of his collar and snarled, yanking him right back to where he'd started.</p><p>"Didn't give you permission to leave, now did I? Why'd you take a picture of me? I know I've got a model's good looks, but that doesn't really cut it. I'm having an interesting day in all the worst ways, and--"</p><p>It didn't take more than that. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't some professional hiding in the guise of an unfortunate retail worker. "Look -- someone paid me to, okay? I didn't get a name! They just sent a text saying you'd walk in, described you perfectly, right down to your, um..." </p><p>As he hesitated, Eric egged him on. "...Devastating smile?"</p><p>"--Stupid fucking jokes, were their exact words." </p><p>Eric's expression flattened. "Yes, well, what do they know?"</p><p>"Um, quite a lot? They even--"</p><p>"Rhetorical question, shut up." Racking his brain to try and think of who might word an insult to him in such a way, he came up blank. Eric didn't even think he had enemies, not in the sense that mattered; mostly just the same people Taskmaster had pissed off as part of their joint jobs. </p><p>In a weird way, he'd been rather offended by that. He deserved a nemesis, right? Sure, he was more of a mercenary than a career villain, but it was part of the...culture. Did mercenaries have a culture?</p><p>"Hey, do mercenaries have a culture?"</p><p>"W-what?"</p><p>Eric tossed the man aside after swiping his phone, opening the photo album and starting to flick through it. "Oh man. You should see a doctor about that."</p><p>"About what?" Embarrassed but worried, the attendant swallowed hard.</p><p>"Your personality, dude. You really send selfies like these to random chicks?"</p><p>Scowling, the guy swiped for his phone -- Eric lifted it out of reach, planting his boot into his face hard enough to break his nose and send him right back to his knees from where he'd been rising. "Hey, that's private, give it back!" The attendant complained.</p><p>"Yeah, says the guy taking spooky shots of me. At least you got my good side..." Eric held up a picture of the back of his head. Crushing the phone in one hand, his synthetic flesh more than tough enough to handle the shattering plastic and metal digging in, Eric tossed the remains back. "Here ya go. All yours. Rule of thumb for a wannabe thug for hire: be more discrete."</p><p>Leaving the attendant, Eric went back to his mini golf. He damn well wasn't going to leave without finishing out his session before addressing his discovery of a stalker; it'd only take a few minutes, after all!</p><p>One hundred and seventy-two hits on seven holes (and four hours) later, Eric made his way out of the mini golf range. "New personal best." </p><p>He'd damn near forgotten about the photos, to be honest; it had been so long since he had a proper day off that he was just enjoying fully leaning into that, and the whole point of this endeavor had escaped him until he checked his phone, only then remembering to see how Taskmaster's trial was going. Only one text from Mercedes; not surprising, considering how long this thing was supposed to take. </p><p>'Hey, O'Grady. Anything new on who's hunting you? Don't worry about replying before you have a real answer, I can only check my phone once every few hours anyways.'</p><p>"Ugh." Eric wondered if she and Taskmaster knew they shared the same infuriating habit of their text messages being as precise and perfectly proofread as a professional novel.</p><p>Still, that was reassuring; she was trusting him to handle this, and Tony was doing just fine in the trial. Probably. If he hadn't been, Mercedes would have said something. In regards to his own dilemma, he didn't quite have a lead - but he did know someone was keeping ahead of him a bit. Where some of people might have panicked about that, Eric saw it as an opportunity. If they had already known he'd be at the mini golf course before he even arrived, then he'd just have to throw them off before moving on. Stepping out into the parking lot with his hands thrown out on either side of him, he drew in a breath before screaming, as loudly as he could:</p><p>"HEY, CRAZY STALKER! COME ON OUT! I KNOW YOU'RE WAITING FOR ME TO SET A DESTINATION IN MY GPS SO YOU CAN HACK IT OR SOMETHING!" </p><p>Silence.</p><p>"Damn, if they weren't doing that I just accidentally gave them a totally rad idea. Squinting up into the sun, he decided to take this idea to cooler climates. If he drove around aimlessly for a bit, maybe he'd be able to pick out a tail. Making his way to what he'd thought was his parking spot, he furrowed his brow. "...Hey, wait." Had he forgotten where he'd parked? </p><p>Ten minutes of wandering aimlessly throughout the lot later, he realized the truth was far worse. His baby, his prize, his best friend in the whole world (don't tell Tasky), was gone! </p><p>"Oh fuck." Rubbing a hand frantically through his red hair, Eric looked around; it was a quiet Sunday, little in the way of traffic around; his anti-fan was almost definitely the culprit here, but there was no sign of them. He'd locked the thing, right? Before panic could really set in, the bracelet that he wore on his wrist chirped. Normally, he only used it to calibrate costume when he had to go Black Ant, but...Pym particles? Here? </p><p>"Okay, color me curious." He wasn't much for the science side of how his suit worked, but he knew how to drawn an obvious conclusion. There were only two possibilities here. The first was that someone had stolen some of his Pym Particles, somehow, and was making use of them; the alternative was that it was someone who knew how to -make- them or use them already, and that was by far worse. Just like that, he knew who was hunting him.</p><p>"Lang. Son of a bitch." Of course it was Lang. He was a previous Ant-Man, a total psycho, and was always whining about both Taskmaster -and- Black Ant! Lang had it in his head that Tasky was his arch-nemesis, and was likely trying to further their feud because he was lonely or had disappointed his next wife or maybe that new kid, what was her name, the new Wasp -- maybe she'd set this up. Who knew! As for Eric himself, Lang had never appreciated his own stint as Ant-Man, and it had led to more than one slugfest between them that he'd definitely won.</p><p> "Ugh. I don't really wanna deal with the Dad Jeans of superheroes."  Kicking the dirt in annoyance, Eric nearly buckled when his foot surged with pain and he nearly fell down screaming. "FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF---OOoound my car."</p><p>Yep, there it was. He had to squat down to see it, but it was there, shrunken down to the size of a penny.  He'd never really understood quite how this worked; usually, when he shrunk something, he could pick it up as easily as if it were a toy -- but it still had a sense of weight to it. Back when he'd been training at the Initiative, Pym -- or Skrull Pym, he guessed -- had explained it as the interaction of his suit's systems and the predictive algorithms it used to anticipate a quantum state in a grasped object, but -- well, he'd fallen asleep around then. A good few times. All he knew was that right now, when he took hold of the tiny little thing, he was only able to briefly lift it before it suddenly felt just as heavy as, well, a car. </p><p> "What a freaking petty jerk. Who would do something like this? At least when I shrank his stuff, it was his suit. And head. And dog." Aw, he missed Little Fido, later renamed Littler Fido. Sighing, Eric checked his current stash of Pym Particles. He had plenty in his suit, but not out here in his street clothes. He hadn't expected to need them the day he finally got some time off; this meant he didn't have any way to grow his car back to normal...and if he tried to pick it up, he'd be wasting the few particles he had with the energy it took. Not to mention the chance of denting his perfect baby!</p><p>"Right," Eric grumbled. "This is too far, Lang. I'm coming for you." The guy was just mad that he'd gone mercenary and was STILL the better Ant-Man. How would he go about this, though? He'd need his suit. Yeah, his suit first! Then he could take care of all of this. If Lang wanted to make this about some stupid grudge with him, then Eric wasn't going to be at fault if he took the old man down. </p><p>First, though, he had to get back to his apartment. He couldn't exactly drive, so he fished out his phone and ordered a rideshare. That took forty-one dollars (surge rates were getting ridiculous) and about fifteen minutes of riding in the backseat of the car of a man he was PRETTY sure was some kind of Skrull, because good god who the hell still listened to Coldplay? Aliens, that was who. </p><p>Making it back to his apartment, Eric grumbled to himself as he headed inside, throwing the door open. He was so damn annoyed that he didn't even think to check around first; it wasn't until he got into the bedroom and headed for the trunk that he kept his costume in that he realized he felt a draft. "What the...?" </p><p>There was a broken window, and his trunk was open.</p><p>His empty trunk.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Somewhere to Be-Lang</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"...I don't like it when you call me that, Masters." Black Ant stared down at his hands for a long while, the gloves of his costume making no sound at all when he clenched them into fists.</p><p>"Call ya what? I didn't call ya nothin'." The Bar With No Name was quiet today; it felt like a strangely fitting backdrop for their little 'celebration'. It had barely been an hour since the two of them had signed the contract making them official partners in crime. It seemed strange to him to have a legally binding document for distinctly illegal activities, but Taskmaster had insisted that it was the best way to keep them accountable to each other -- and it turned out that the criminal underworld did, in fact, have people in place to enforce these contracts.</p><p>"...Eric. You keep saying that like it's my name, man. I told you--"</p><p>Taskmaster waved him off. "--That yer an LMD. Yeah, yeah. I don't really care, buddy. You want another name, pick one. Until then, I'm not calling you 'Black Ant' every damn time I need to speak to you. I don't see why ya insist that ya ain't him, anyways. Ain't SHIELD after you specifically -because- they say ya got his brain and yer him?"</p><p>"Yeah," Black Ant replied. "But when has SHIELD ever gotten anything right?"</p><p>Taskmaster laughed. "True that, little buddy." </p><p>---</p><p>Staring down at the empty trunk before him, Black Ant clenched his fists into a tight ball. "This is exactly why I didn't want any of this..." But what had his choices been? Take on the persona of Eric O'Grady, or...worse, be nobody at all. Something about that scared him, scared him deeply. So yeah - Tony had won. He was Eric now.</p><p>And somebody had a real problem with that, because the looted trunk wasn't even the most noticeable problem here; his apartment had been ransacked. One could argue it was a little difficult to tell the difference between its normal state and after an act of looting, but Eric had a very precise sense of his own mess, and it didn't involve his furniture being destroyed. What had at first seemed like a simple theft of his suit was starting to look more like lashing out. Naturally, he already had a culprit in mind.</p><p>"...Fuck you, Lang. Seriously. I did NOT need this right now."</p><p>To Eric's immense surprise, there was a crash and a surprised yelp in his bedroom closet. "What the hell?" He muttered. Marching over with an annoyed scowl, he yanked the door open -- only to get blindsided by a punch in the nose. While it sent him reeling, his metallic skeleton beneath his synthetic flesh did its job -- his assailant yelped in pain and reeled back, clutching their - no, her - hand to her chest.</p><p>"...You have got to be kidding me." Eric's jaw dropped. He'd been half right...it was a Lang who had ambushed him.</p><p>CASSIE Lang...the daughter of Ant-Man, and a superheroine in her own right. One he'd trained with in the Avengers Initiative, and picked more than a few fights with in the process. "What the fuck are YOU doing in my apartment? You're too young for me! Only slightly, but--"</p><p>"You son of a bitch!" She snapped, lunging forward at him. She was a little out of practice judging by her sloppy form, but she was strong, pissed, and had the element of surprise on her side. Eric fell back, struggling to catch himself out of sheer shock. This made it harder to deal with Cassie, though, and before he could really find his grip, she was slamming his head into the base of his dresser. As Eric grimaced, his skull crashed right through the wood, shattering it hard enough to make Cassie hesitate in sheer surprise. He used that surprise to lift himself by the shoulder-blades, flinging his legs back to monkey throw her off him. </p><p>"Why are you in my apartment?!" He roared as he got to his feet, just in time to get clipped across the temple by a high kick from the teenager. Okay, so maybe her form was pretty sharp after all. As she hissed and fell back, he knocked on his slightly dented forehead. "And how many times are you going to hit me before you realize I have a steel skull?"</p><p>Cassie answered by popping him in the nose with a devastating left cross. </p><p>"Okay, thah I had comin'."</p><p>Accepting that she really wasn't here to talk, Eric focused on defending himself. Once he had gathered himself, she had a much harder time landing a hit, and he let her tire herself out by blocking and ducking until she started to look winded before deftly kicking her legs out from under her. "Come on, kid. Where's my suit? And why are you screwing with me?"</p><p>"You know what you did!" She cried out as she landed on her back. Forcing herself into a sitting position, she glared daggers at the mercenary. "You took my Dad's name when he was dead; you ruined his reputation, turned Ant-Man into something people mocked! Ever since he's been back, he's been dealing with the crap YOU pulled!" She accused, her eyes welling up. The way she was looking at him, Eric could tell she meant every word -- and he had every reason to believe her, even if he wasn't the Eric that had done all of this stuff.</p><p>...Right?</p><p>"Look, kid, that wasn't me. I -remember- it, mostly, but that's just Eric's memories rattling around in my head. I'm an LMD, okay?" He shifted to grab hold of one of his sideburns. He didn't actually care for the mutton-chops he sported much these days, but they weren't really optional -- they allowed him to tug and lift to reveal the chromatic skeleton beneath, all metal like some kind of twisted terminator from one of those old movies Taskmaster was always hyping up as a cinematic masterpiece. "See? Not the real Eric. I just have his memories. And I get why you hate him - me? Whatever. Point is, though, the guy you really hate so much? He's dead. Kaput. Gone. All of that."</p><p>Cassie regarded him strangely for a moment, then cursed loudly enough that even Eric's synthetic eardrums were struggling a little bit to process it. "You shit! YOU THINK I DIDN'T KNOW ABOUT THAT?!" She got up and shoved him again. Shocked, Eric staggered, creating some space between himself and the violent teen. Wondering on some level how many times he was going to get beaten up by a girl who couldn't even buy cigarettes yet, Eric didn't hesitate to question her. "What do you mean, you knew?"</p><p>"Everyone knows! You think people don't talk about it? Even my dad does, and he hates you! He says you died like a hero -- that you did some awful stuff, but when it came down to it, you did the right thing even when it cost you your life. You think that was forgotten?" Despite what she was saying, she only sounded angrier by the second.</p><p>Stunned, Eric couldn't find words, but no big loss; he didn't get the chance Cassie was going to let him speak anyways. She was already closing the distance, jabbing a finger in his chest. "That's why I'm HERE, you shit! You went out like a hero, you get a second chance at life, and what? You decide to team up with that skull-faced jerk from Camp Hammond and go mercenary because you weren't 'appreciated' enough for your sacrifice? That's so infuriating! You're so awful!"</p><p>Eric was reeling. "I'm not HIM, you dumb kid! I didn't "go merc", I've -been- merc! I was a robot created to impersonate a guy who's freaking -dead-, so I had to decide what to do with myself! You're trying to act like I'm the real O'Grady, and I'm not!" His voice sharpened and grew louder with every word -- so much so that even Cassie, whose anger had seemed limitless, hesitated and backed up a bit. By the time he realized he was yelling, he had nothing else to say, so he just stopped abruptly.</p><p>"I'm not -- I'm not him, okay?" He seethed, looking her in the eye. She had to see. She had to understand. -He- had to know she got it.</p><p>He wasn't looking at Cassie. He didn't see the way her expression softened, even as she stubbornly planted her hands on her hips. "So what? Can you prove that? Can you say you don't remember being him? You don't remember hitting me with a bus like a total dick? Or that you don't remember helping people, even when it cost you your life?"</p><p>He remembered that. He remembered...</p><p>"I remember dying," Eric murmured softly. "I remember the exact moment I went down. That -- he did. I don't know. It hurts to think about."</p><p>Cassie's hesitation made it clear: whatever she thought she wanted, however she felt she wanted to hurt Eric, this wasn't it. If she was trying to make him seem guilty, it had backfired; now she was the one looking guilty. "...That's terrible. I can't imagine." Could she really not? Eric wondered, really, if she had died before. </p><p>"It doesn't matter...point is, when I came back, I had no one. Who was I supposed to be? Eric? I was an LMD. You think I had a social security number? Rights?" When she didn't answer, he continued, "I was given the chance to legally become Eric, but this sacrifice you think meant so much -- it didn't mean shit. If I took on his name, his identity, I'd get his criminal record, too; they were very clear about the fact that to have a legal identity, I'd have to have legal repercussions."</p><p>"Who?" Cassie asked, sounding more curious than angry now; she was invested. He had no idea how to feel about that, because even he wasn't really feeling invested anymore. Making his way over to his bed, Eric sighed and sat on the edge, gesturing for her to get comfortable somewhere.</p><p>"...SHIELD, when they were still a thing. They were the maddest at me. Some wanted to let it slide, mostly a couple of Avengers. I heard Captain America even tried to vouch for me, but Fury wasn't having it. Hill was -- I don't know. Here? Gone? Both? I can never tell with her anymore." He'd heard some unsettling rumors about that lately, but he wasn't about to let them get to him. "I was trying to figure out what I'd do, and lo and behold...I wound up  right in a helicarrier prison cell. Needed more Pym Particles and tried to steal some of their stash." He'd known even at the time that it was a bad idea, and his tone made that clear. "Seriously, don't let anyone tell you superpowers aren't addictive; show me any hero who's lost theirs, and I bet the stuff they've done to get them back would make an A+ thesis on insanity." </p><p>Cassie averted her eyes at that. Eric wondered if she was just embarrassed for him, or if he'd possibly hit a little close to home. "Anyways, Hill finally came back after awhile, decided to give me a little lesson on LMDs and how I was one now. They explained that I had a couple of choices. I could try and tell them what I knew about Eric's last moments, since for some reason they thought I...had any fucking idea. Then I could start a new life from scratch, as an adult man who looked just like a dead superhero-turned-bad-guy or whatever. Or I could get Eric's legal identity, but I'd be tried for everything he'd done as the Black Ant." He stared off into nothing. His apartment was so small, yet so empty. How'd he pull that one off?</p><p>"...So what'd you do?" Cassie asked. She hadn't sat down, but she was relaxed now, leaning back against the wall across the room. She'd folded her legs beneath her, sitting closer to Eric than she even seemed to notice. For his part, Eric was lost in his story.</p><p>"Both. I took the name, agreed to be on trial or whatever, then I escaped. Idiots." He cracked up at that, and doubly so at Cassie's disapproving frown. "What?" He pressed her. "You think I'm really him? That I should have paid for what -he- did?"</p><p>"Well, you remember doing it, right?"</p><p>"Sure. I also remember the time I beat up Wolverine on the moon. That was a dream I had. Why would it matter what I remember? I'm not him. Different body, different mind." </p><p>Cassie clicked her tongue. Eric could tell she was trying her best to understand - but there was still an undercurrent of anger to what she said. "I see why it's complicated -- but you still lied to them."</p><p>"You think they don't lie?" Eric snorted. "That's all SHIELD ever did. I'm glad they're gone." Seeing the disappointed look on the teen's face, he sighed. "Look -- enough about this. Why have you been harassing me all day? You know my handler's been calling me about you, right? You could have gotten killed if she'd thought you were coming after me for real."</p><p>"...I don't know," She admitted. "Because my dad's having a hard time," she muttered, closing her eyes and resting her chin on her knees. For this brief moment, Eric could see not Stature, the aspiring heroine he'd met at the Initiative camp, but just some kid -- a kid trying to find out who was right, who was wrong, and what the hell she was going to do about it. "He's been trying to pick up his heroism again, but money's been tight, so he's been trying to get some work for hire going. But he's afraid of seeming like..."</p><p>Eric waited for it, but he knew what was coming.</p><p>"...A mercenary. It makes people think of you. Of the stuff you and that jerk Taskmaster did for Hydra. How are we supposed to keep the Ant-Man...I don't know, legacy? Intact, when you do that?"</p><p>Eric felt a little defensive now, and it slipped into his reply. "Well, how's that my fault? I don't even go by Ant-Man anymore. It's Black--"</p><p>"--Ant, yes. And your costume still looks the same. I've seen you fighting Spider-Man on TV! You were getting your butt kicked, by the way. You really think that doesn't hurt us? That it doesn't mess with the reputation we've tried to maintain? When people see an Ant-Man, or Stinger, or Stature, or Wasp -- they see us and they're supposed to be ready to come to us, to ask for help. And that is becoming less and less the case these days." When she looked up at him again, she no longer seemed angry. She just looked...hurt.</p><p>Eric hadn't really thought of that. To say that he felt guilty was a little bit of an exaggeration; he had too little investment in the opinions of any of these heroes for that, even the precocious ones who shrank his damn car - hey wait when did he stop being mad about that - but he did get the idea. "Look...Black Ant's who I am, alright? I can't change that; I'm not going to be like that dummy Pym and bounce between, like, nine different kinds of bug because I'm having an identity crisis over how bad I look in yellow." </p><p>"...He looked really bad in yellow," Cassie finally agreed, trying not to laugh. Eric was glad to see that he still had it.  "But still; don't you get the kind of damage that does? To see you running around with -Taskmaster-, of all people? My dad's, like, nemesis?"</p><p>"Oh man, don't let Tasky hear you say that." There was nothing Tony hated more than being reminded that Ant-Man saw him as some kind of rival; as far as he knew, it was pretty one-sided, though Lang was certainly managed to provoke Taskmaster's ire. Did that count as a nemesis? God, things were getting sad out there if so. "Look; I get where you're coming from. I'll be honest, I think it's kind of dumb, but..."</p><p>The crackle of something stepping on glass outside. "...Did you break my window to get in here?" Eric hadn't seen any damage on his way in, but that was a very distinct sound.</p><p>"What? No. I didn't have to." Cassie lifted both brows, visibly confused.</p><p>"Oh, right, you can shrink."</p><p>"...No, I just went through the front door. You know that, like -- you don't lock it, right?" She was judging him! Judging him, with the unique and potent combination of boredom and annoyance that only a teenager could truly harness the power of. Eric winced. </p><p>"I'm working on my security protocols!" He really needed to get on that. Like, getting some security protocols. "In any case, if it wasn't you, then someone just broke my window. Or...is stepping on my window? I have some wax in my ears." </p><p>"Gross." Cassie was already rising to her feet, though; Eric was right behind her. </p><p>"Where's my suit?" He asked.</p><p>"Huh? Oh! Shit. Uhh...don't be mad?" Suddenly, she looked a little skittish.</p><p>"See, you say that, I feel like I'm gonna get more mad than I was before," Eric deadpanned. "Where. Is my costume."</p><p>"...Toilet." Cassie smiled sheepishly.</p><p>Just then, gunfire tore through the open window of the bedroom and the wall beneath, aimed directly at Eric and Cassie alike.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Fifty Shades of Grady</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Cursing, Eric rushed for the bathroom; no sooner had he left his bedroom than gunfire peppered the wall over his head. Feeling suddenly VERY aware of his inability to shrink, he ducked as best he could, diving onto the tiles and nearly crashing into his bathroom sink. "Jeez! Keep your head down, kid! You got a costume? Or gear?!" </p><p>"No!" Cassie screamed back. "I didn't think something like this would happen! What the heck is going on?!" That was a good question. Sighing at the rather symbolic vision of his costume stuffed halfway into an overflowing toilet, Eric made his way over and reluctantly fished it out.</p><p>"Did you try to flush it?"</p><p>"I was really upset!"</p><p>Sighing, he shook it a couple of times and then quickly pulled his helmet on. It was the most important part, really; the rest of the suit provided stability, but at least this would let him shrink a bit, grow a little more, and most importantly, prevent a head shot. Even if his skull WAS reinforced steel, he wasn't entirely bulletproof -- and he didn't wanna ding his chassis anyways. Not like he had SHIELD to help him fix it, and Albino charged a lot. </p><p>He wanted to put on more of his gear, but another scream from Cassie interrupted him. It wasn't one of fear, but of rage; as he emerged from the bathroom and dashed, dripping from his neck with toilet water, back into his bedroom -- he saw the girl smashing his favorite statue of Abraham Lincoln (Vampire Hunter) into the head of a masked man. He was out cold, judging by the limp way he hit the floor. "...Huh. Nicely done," Eric praised.</p><p>"Behind you!" Cassie shouted. Eric ducked just in time to avoid getting his head nearly swatted off by some kind of electric baton.</p><p>"Wait, I recognize those --" The man who was swinging it was big, easily seven feet tall and built like a rhino -- or maybe like the guy, Rhino (who was built a bit more like a giant cinder block, if you asked Eric). Another swing was already coming at him, so Eric decided to fight fire with fire, stepping back into his bedroom until he wasn't in the doorway and enlarging himself by activating his helmet. Catching the baton in a hand now much larger than even the other's own, he jerked it away before slamming his knee into his groin. Crumpling, the big - well, less so relatively now - guy went down. </p><p>"Who are these people? Why are they coming after you?!" Cassie asked, ducking under a sudden hail of gunfire shattering the window. </p><p>"Who says they're after me?! Maybe they're after you! Way to make assumptions! It's not always my fault!" Eric was scrambling back towards the center of the apartment now, gesturing for her to follow him. "Come on! Back door!"</p><p>"No one ever comes after me with guns!"</p><p>"Well, there's a special time in every girl's life as a superheroine when--"</p><p>"Shut up. And why does your apartment have a back door?"</p><p>"Made it in case of emergencies!" He led her to a wall he'd cut a good portion out of - wasn't getting his deposit back, was he? - and opened the shoddy but functional door he'd placed over it. </p><p>"...You did all this and don't lock your front door?!" </p><p>"--Shut up." </p><p>Pushing Cassie through, Eric ducked after her just as a pair of masked men were making their way inside. They were pros, he could tell that much. For a moment, he wondered if some of the trainees Taskmaster had been working on were looking to 'graduate early' by taking him down, but ultimately, he decided against it; him and Tasky were on good terms this day. Because he was living in an apartment complex, he hadn't been able to exactly get a whole escape hatch done without more time; instead, he'd simply installed some handholds inside the walls, giving him and Cassie room to start climbing upwards towards the second floor. "Tight fit, but come on."</p><p>"Okay," Cassie conceded, "This isn't bad. You've actually got some backup plans now and then, despite everything." </p><p>"Why does everyone think I'm incompetent until proven otherwise?" Eric complained.</p><p>"Because you put a lot of effort into selling that image." </p><p>They emerged between the wall and window of a second-floor apartment, Eric opening the former and glancing back at her. "Can't believe I'm trying to help you after everything you did," the mercenary grumbled.</p><p>Cassie, to his surprise, offered a smile before climbing through the window with all the agility of a monkey. "Look on the bright side, maybe it means you aren't entirely as bad as I was saying." </p><p>"Yeah, well--shit! GET DOWN!" Eric dove through the window as quickly as possible, shrinking just enough to be able to easily do so while also grabbing Cassie by her ankle and -yanking-. Her half-started cry of complaint disappeared when she saw what had provoked him: a rocket-propelled grenade hissing past overhead, slamming into the roof of the apartment building. </p><p>"Oh no--"</p><p>They wouldn't get out in time, but his helmet alone didn't have the tech for a big shrink -- did it? Eric grimaced, not too eager to find out, but he didn't hesitate and grabbed Cassie, wrapping one arm around her shoulders to ensure his Pym particles would take effect. Both of them diminished even further than he had before, shrinking down, down, down -- all the way until each was about the size of a mouse, just as they hit the ground below. </p><p>"Ow..." Cassie groaned, rolling slowly onto her back as Eric released her. "What was tha--hrrrrnh--?" </p><p>True to his greatest fear, there had been a side effect of trying to shrink without a full suit. Cassie couldn't breathe. Eric could, thanks to his helmet being built for that specific purpose, but if he took it off...well, then he'd be screwed. (Think fast, Eric. Girl's life is on the line. Lang will never stop giving you shit if his kid dies escaping your apartment with you. It's kind of scary how many levels that makes you look like a creep on.)</p><p>He tried to convince himself it was about that; about convenience. But no, he knew why he took his helmet off, why he inhaled and then shoved it right onto Cassie's own. The girl had just started to thrash about, unable to do more than that with her lungs too small to properly process the amount of oxygen she needed...</p><p>And then she gasped. "Eric!"</p><p>He couldn't answer; he needed every second of oxygen that he had, because...</p><p>Eric stopped and slapped himself. Because fucking why? He was an LMD. Damn near looking like a child who'd just realized that their parents were lying about having their nose, Eric waved to Cassie. "I'm fine! I just remembered I'm a FUCKING robot."</p><p>Cassie didn't want to admit it, he could tell; but she'd forgotten too. She seemed more relieved than he did. "Okay, well, I only need this helmet for a second...I've got Pym Particles in my blood."</p><p>"What." </p><p>"Yeah, same!" The teen proclaimed. Eric was glad they were on the same wavelength. "I dunno, I think it's because my family uses them so much."</p><p>"So why don't I have any?"</p><p>"...Because you don't have blood?"</p><p>"Ahh, right." Eric nodded matter-of-factly; a trade in all things, no surprise. He couldn't do much about that. "I guess considering that's why I'm alive, I'll take that. So...with your Pym Particles, and my helmet..."</p><p>"I can get us back to normal size," she confirmed. Grabbing hold of Eric's shoulders, Cassie took on an expression of intense focus, and a moment later, they were both grown back to their original heights. </p><p>"...Hey, wait. I was at least two inches taller than this," Eric complained.</p><p>"No you weren't."</p><p>"Dang."</p><p>"...You change size at will! Oh my god. Dudes are so lame."</p><p>Self-consciously checking his height in comparison to Cassie's own with a hand, Eric took his helmet back when it was offered. "Okay, well, we're not out of the woods yet. We're not even out of the apartment complex, in fact." He turned and broke into a run when a pair of men who had been tearing their way through the complex showed up. "Come on!"</p><p>Cassie, however, hesitated. "...Why don't we just fight them?" She was starting to look more angry than scared now; he knew that look. It was the look Eric's last ex-girlfriend got when he put the toaster sideways to warm his socks with.</p><p>"--Because we don't have any gear!" He reasoned. "And they have a lot of guns!" He was slowing down upon realizing she wasn't following; was he really going to let her get him shot? </p><p>He was following her to the fence before he had even decided to himself that of course he freaking was. Sighing in discontent, Eric grumbled, "You know -- I wouldn't do this for many people."</p><p>"Yeah you would," Cassie responded, grabbing a fence board and gripping it like a bludgeon. "Look -- you shrink and distract them, I'll take any open hits. You were always bragging about how you're the one from the Initiative that made it into the Shadow Ops team; why not prove it?"</p><p>Oof, this kid knew where to hit him. Feeling challenged now, Eric pulled his helmet back on and nodded. "Yeah, fine. You want to see what I can do? Let's go."</p><p>He didn't know why he was so scared before. Had he become that dependent on working with Taskmaster? Hell, a few years back, it'd been -him- saving Tony; he'd exploded a vampire from the inside, in fact! Ever since they'd started teaming up, the older mercenary accepting him as a permanent apprentice -- well, Eric had been incredibly flattered, knowing the man's aversion to having a partner. </p><p>But was he one? Or had he become a sidekick when he wasn't paying attention, someone who was there to make Taskmaster feel better? He decided not to think about it -- well, it was less of a decision and more of an inevitability when gunshots started ringing out.</p><p>Whoever these guys were, they were amateur hour. He'd let himself get spooked, missed that; they'd put their best people forward instead of using the weaker idiots as fodder, then hemming them in with the elites. These two, a man and a woman in black suits and ski masks, are crap shots. Putting aside his insecurities about Tony's teachings for now, he focused on their usefulness: </p><p>Keep cover. Watch their hands. You'll know where they're gonna shoot before they do. </p><p>And he does. Before they're even pulling the triggers, Eric's shrinking; he still feels the bullets whizz over his head, closer than he would have liked, but he was closing the distance now. </p><p>What had been the next advice? Open field, no cover -- so what do you do? You make some, that's what Tony had told him. There was only a couple of cars in the parking lot of the complex to hide against, so Eric ducked against one and waited. Maybe he'd get lucky; maybe they'd get impatient and advance. </p><p>He waited a little longer, checked to see Cassie crawling carefully across the parking lot, then took a glimpse over the hood of the old Camaro he was hidden against. The next shot nearly took his eye out. "Damn!" They'd taken cover as well. Apparently they weren't -total- amateurs. </p><p>Playing hide and seek would have been all well and good, but they were armed and he wasn't -- plus he had cassie. No, he'd have to be a little smarter. Checking a dial at his helmet, testing how many Pym Particles he had left, the mercenary clucked his tongue. Would it be enough? He had to hope so. "Hey, idiots!" Eric chirped, lifting himself up and waving at them both from behind a car.</p><p>The pair returned his insult with bullets, just as he expected. Now he knew where they were, posted behind an old pickup truck about twenty feet away. That was all he needed. Taking off his helmet and swinging a second dial as far as it would go, Eric spun like he was throwing a shotput and released it. Just as the helmet started to hit the ground, it EXPLODED in size, growing at least a few feet a second upon each bounce. By the third, it was cracking the pavement, and as the two men desperately dove out of the way, the last had it crushing one of them entirely underneath.</p><p>Eric didn't expect the other to need too long to recover, so he didn't waste any time. He started sliding over the hood of the truck, intending to rush the man down while he was trying to get back up -- but Cassie beat him to it. The masked thug looked up just in time to get clocked across the face with the fencepost she'd been carrying.</p><p>"Damn!" Eric called out in surprise. He'd expected her to go easy on the guy, but she'd damn near taken his head off with the strike. She hadn't killed him - he could tell she was limiting herself, holding back just enough to avoid breaking his neck - but it was still a swing that had more anger behind it than he would have expected. "Alright, well, the other guy's probably dead, so let's take this one."</p><p>Visibly trying to ignore looking that way, suddenly appearing a little nauseous, Cassie asked, "What about your helmet? It's all big now."</p><p>"Yeah, I'll come back for it. Or not. I don't care." He was surprised to find that he really didn't. Today was strange like that; Eric couldn't help but feel like change was on the wind, and not because he was starting to smell the blood of the guy his helmet had crushed. "...Besides, it's got brains on it or something."</p><p>"Urk -- please stop."</p><p>Hauling the unconscious man up over his shoulder, Eric grunted with effort. "Damn...why couldn't I have gotten the smaller one? You'd think they would have been better at dodging."</p><p>With that, they headed off at a sprint as the sirens pulled up at the building.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5: Ant-ediluvian</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"WHAT THE FUCK, O'GRADY?!"</p><p>Mercedes did not sound happy. In fact, Eric wasn't sure he'd ever heard her yell, but she was more than making up for it now; he was pretty sure his phone was going to crack. "DO NOTHING! FOR ONE DAY! LITERALLY ALL I ASKED!"</p><p>"Yeah, but--"</p><p>"--AND YOU LOST YOUR HELMET?!"</p><p>Okay, this call wasn't going as expected. He'd rung her up as soon as he and Cassie had gotten to safety, escaping to one of his local safehouses that he had stashed around the city. Tasky had taught him that lesson well, and they'd even ensure they had their own safe spaces from each -other-, in case of betrayal or mind control. Now Eric had to add 'trying to safeguard a hero' to the list of shameful reasons to withdraw.</p><p>"I'm surprised that's the part you're mad about."</p><p>Calming - or at least quieting - immediately, Mercedes switched to cool frustration. "And what the hell else would I be angry with you for, Eric? I'm wondering if you've built up a whole list."</p><p>"Well, there's the whole 'getting some brat on my heels while people are trying to kill me,' he reasoned.</p><p>"That's the only part I approve of. You did good there; Lang needs all the help he can get, and Cassie's a smart kid. You get any clues about why they're after her?"</p><p>"No, but they're definitely after her and not me," Eric responded. "You going to look into it? The Hub might have some contacts that could help out here."</p><p>Mercedes clicked her tongue; it was almost more annoying than the yelling, if he was being honest. She had a habit of knocking her tongue piercing against her teeth when she was thinking that drove him insane. He didn't know how Tasky had ever dealt with it...and this was coming from him, who used to think that those piercings were hot. She'd ruined that. "Mm. Yeah, I will. They're at recess in the trial. I can afford a few minutes of hunting this down for Cassie."</p><p>"And me."</p><p>"No."</p><p>That was cold. "Alright, well, thanks anyways. Ya dink." </p><p>Mercedes hesitated, as if considering a reply -- then simply hung up.</p><p>The 'bunker' that he was hiding out in was really more of an old garage/basement sort of situation, nestled beneath the first place that Eric had ever lived in as an adult: the undercut quarters of a condemned building. Upon entering, he'd almost felt like he was home again, between the inexplicably greasy floors (ew) and the swarm of roaches that scattered when he'd lodged open the window and let a bit of sunlight in.</p><p>"This is so gross," Cassie complained. "Don't you have a better hideout anywhere?"</p><p>"You should see it in the microverse!" </p><p>"I really shouldn't."</p><p>"Good counterpoint." As for the third member of their little entourage, Eric had just the thing to wake him up. Opening up the - unpowered - fridge that he'd not seen in a number of years, he fished out a warm can inside. "Oh man, these are still here. This is going to be amazing."</p><p>"What...the hell is that?" Cassie asked suspiciously of the drink he pulled out. Turning around and brandishing the holiday-themed can, Eric beamed. </p><p>"Dude, it's Candy Cane soda...from 2006. This store I used to shop at had it every year. It was absolutely fucking -disgusting- even when fresh. I can't imagine what time could have done to it."</p><p>"...Is this torture? Is this going to be, like, waterboarding but worse?"</p><p>"Absolutely!" Eric replied cheerfully, popping the can and leaning back. Even with artificial olfactory senses and control over turning them off, he was shocked by the brief blast wave of utterly toxic stench that hit him. It wasn't even the kind of terrible smell that could be easily categorized; it was caramelized, old and melted sugar combined with a vaguely metallic scent and a mockery of mint. </p><p>"Oh my god," Cassie grunted, nearly throwing up on the spot. "What are you gonna do with that?"</p><p>"Oh, I think you know." Eric smiled innocently at her as he approached the bound thug, tugging his mask off and holding the can upside down. It was nearly five full seconds before the tragic excuse for what was once considered edible began to actually pour from within, a mass that somehow rendered the word sludge insufficient as it landed in his mouth. It had barely touched the man's tongue before he nearly exploded upwards, a sound of utter DISTRESS filling the room. "Aarrnnh...!" </p><p>Trying to contain his laughter, Eric looked the man over as he struggled to clear his mouth of the toxic (possibly literally) taste of the ex-soda. He was pale and red-headed, with a mass of freckles that seemed to cover more of him than actual skin did. "Oi--"</p><p>"Oh, Irish Mob," Eric confirmed, nodding matter-of-factly.</p><p>"What...?" The confused, bound man looked around, then spit again. "Fuckin' hell, didja poison me? I ain't with the mob, you git. I'm from London." </p><p>Cassie leveled a disapproving glare at Eric.</p><p>"What?!" He raised his hands up at the teen. "You remember he tried to kill us, right? You're seriously taking his side?"</p><p>"Doesn't mean you get to be racist at him."</p><p>"He's white!"</p><p>The face Cassie made was still not a king one. Ignoring it and turning back to the irish man, Eric pulled out his phone and took a quick picture, sending it to Mercedes. If he was on any of the henchman or merc databases, she'd be able to find it. "Alright, then. What the hell are you after us for?"</p><p>"I'm not after you both. Just got told to deal with the idiot robot in the ant suit. That's you, by the way."</p><p>"Yes, thank you, classic british sarcasm."</p><p>"What sarcasm?"</p><p> Eric sighed. "Alright, well, who sent you?" </p><p>The man narrowed his eyes, even as he somewhat comically still teared up from trying to get the taste of the sludge that he'd been forced to swallow out of his mouth. "You really think I'd admit it? I'm a professional. You should know this."</p><p>His tone cracked slightly when Eric grabbed the can again, turning it over. "That's fine, buddy! That is totally fine. You gotta be thirsty, right? Long day of trying to murder me and this kid? Hear the loving crackle of cheap aluminum as I give you a little more of this wonderful treat." He started to squeeze.</p><p>Watching the off-brown substance come ever closer to falling into his mouth again, the man shut up for a moment and inhaled through his nostrils. When Eric simply tipped the can a little further towards -those-, he started to visibly panic. "Okay, uh -- what kind of poison is that? Thought I'd seen 'em all, but it's somethin' new, innit?"</p><p>Eric hadn't expected that, but he wasn't going to complain. "Yep. Little concoction of my own making." Technically true. "Who sent you, pal? I'm asking -because- I know the game. Merc code, buddy. We don't begrudge each other for the jobs we take, right? They don't even have to know you ratted them out; after all, I certainly don't have any intentions of making things harder for -you-...only them. And ratting out my new buddy wouldn't exactly help me with that, now would it?"</p><p>The man looked reluctant, but given the choice between giving up his employer and swallowing more of that toxic old soda, he didn't need much time to think. "Fine...It was a supervillain."</p><p>Eric nearly broke into a gleeful smile. A real supervillain? A bonafide big bad guy, after -him-? Maybe it was Rhino, out for revenge about the Kraven job? Sure, Rhino was kind of a mid-tier, but he was at least well-known; Eric could use that to help his rep and wind up with a -real- nemesis, someone impressive like...hell, maybe even Black Widow. Spider vs. Ant. It had promise. Right? "Hah! I knew it. I'm making waves." He stopped gloating when he caught the tapping of Cassie's fingers on her arm. "Right, right. Aaaanyways. Who was it, pal? The Vulture? Kinda old, but I'd take it. Ooh, was it Black Cat? She's sassy these da--"</p><p>"It was a guy in a bear suit. Uh. Grizzly?"</p><p>Eric's shoulders slumped. Of course. "...He say why?" </p><p>"I don't know. He had a bear suit on. Would you listen closely to a guy in a bear suit?"</p><p>"Depends on how convincing it was." Clucking his tongue, Eric considered that, but then Cassie tugged at his shoulder with an urgent expression.</p><p> "Can we talk?" She asked, folding her arms over her chest. He didn't have to look twice to tell that she was immensely upset. </p><p>"Uh, sure. What's up? Bear phobia? Ursaphobia? Is that what they call it?" Hey, could he get a signal in here? Of course he could, Mercedes had picked up. </p><p>"...No. Look, I know Grizzly. He's -- he was supposed to be reformed," she explained. That was a surprise. </p><p>"Well, he seems to have reformed into a guy who's okay with killing you. What makes you think he went legit?" Had Grizzly been there at the job for Kraven? God, there had been at least four bear guys. Who knew there were so many Yogi-themed supervillains? </p><p>"...He was working for my dad. Dad started a security company awhile back - one Taskmaster screwed with, by the way - " How was it that he always seemed to get Taskmaster's flak for his jobs, yet never got any of the credit or regard as a professional? "It wasn't perfect, but Grizzly was doing good work. Then everything fell apart, and he got sent to an Asylum -- that Ravencroft place." </p><p>Eric waited for it...and sighed in relief. He guessed that she didn't know Taskmaster had been -there-, too. Maybe the girl had a point about his merc life. "Well, sounds like the asylum didn't work out too well; do they ever? But seriously. What's the plan, kiddo? If he's your friend, then this sounds like something you can help solve." </p><p>"I didn't say we were friends," Cassie replied defensively. "All I'm saying is that if he really is trying to kill you, it means he thinks you did something really bad. Grizzly isn't the type to get so violent over nothing anymore." </p><p>"Well, he wasn't one of the guys I captured with Taskmaster, and I've never taken any other kind of job against him," Eric said thoughtfully. "What about you, ginger-vitis? You got any ideas about this?" Their captive had been quiet for awhile now -- no wonder, as when Eric glanced over, he was alarmed to discover that the man was, well, dead. Froth bubbled at the corner of his mouth, betraying why he'd made so little noise.</p><p>"Huh. Guess that stuff was expired after all," he remarked casually -- only to nearly buckle as Cassie lashed out, punching him square across the face. This time, she didn't even flinch when her hand impacted the metal underneath his synthetic flesh. </p><p>"What is WRONG with you? He DIED because of what you gave him!" She cried out.</p><p>"Yes, this is true. But I would like to point out he was trying to kill -me-; and was pretty okay with killing you, too. A literal kid."</p><p>"I'm not even a kid! I'm nineteen!" </p><p>"...Are you? Honestly, I've never been able to tell. Feels like you sorta go back and forth." </p><p>Ignoring him, Cassie just threw her hands up. "I wanted to help you, I did; I almost thought you were learning something! I'm out of here. I'll sort this out with my dad; -you- are not in any condition to be helping anyone." </p><p>Eric felt a pang of...something. What? He had no idea. It almost seemed like this whole 'guilt' thing that he'd heard about a few thousand times before -- but to actually experience it was new. "Look...Cassie, I didn't actually know it'd kill him!"</p><p>"You didn't CARE! YOU DON'T FUCKING CARE, ERIC O'GRADY! THAT'S YOUR PROBLEM!" The girl's roar was daunting; where'd she keep that kind of lung capacity? "YOU THINK IT'S ENOUGH TO NOT BE ACTIVELY TRYING TO KILL PEOPLE -- YOU DON'T TRY TO SAVE THEM! YOU PUT THIS--" She stopped him as he reached for his helmet, swatting it out of his hand and sending it skidding to the floor. "--FUCKING THING ON, THIS -LEGACY- OF MY FATHER'S, OF PYM BEFORE HIM -- AND YOU RUIN IT A LITTLE MORE EVERY DAY! YOU CHANGE YOUR NAME, YOU MAKE YOURSELF THE 'BLACK ANT' LIKE THAT MAKES IT OKAY? YOU'RE A FUCKING MOCKERY, ERIC O'GRADY! AND NOT BECAUSE YOU'RE AN LMD!</p><p>BECAUSE YOU SPIT ON EVERYTHING EVERYONE HAS EVER GIVEN YOU IN YOUR GODDAMN LIFE!" Her anger was so surprising, so overwhelming, that Eric didn't even think to take his helmet back when she picked it up and started for the door. </p><p>Taking a deep breath but not looking behind her, she added, "Goodbye, O'Grady. Please get your life in order." And then slammed it behind her.</p><p>Furrowing his brow, Eric remained silent for a long moment.</p><p>"Wow, she has a pretty good scream on her." Mercedes, speaking through the phone.</p><p>"Gah! You're still there?" Eric asked.</p><p>"You never hung up," she deadpanned. "Don't worry, though -- it's not all bad. I found our man Grizzly. He's still on the old Hub database from when he was trying to get merc work."</p><p>Inspecting the corpse of the mercenary, Eric clicked his tongue thoughtfully. "Okay, sure. And what's that mean here?" </p><p>"It means that all I had to do was offer him a job, and he jumped at the chance to meet."</p>
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